Who?
by Silver Fists
Summary: So who is this Silver Fists? Who is Alisha Sherway? Before Cajun and the newsies, she was just another little girl from a poor NY family. So how did she become Silver, and who is she really? Read on...
1. Default Chapter

Chapter 1

"Good evenin' mama!" chorused a crowd of four kids from the entrance of the tiny apartment. The eldest, an eight-year-old walked up to the table and proudly dropped a handful of coins onto the worn tablecloth, his three siblings standing behind him, beaming with just as much pride, as brightly as the sun. They had managed to scrounge up enough money for a Christmas meal for their parents, and to afford some scraps for themselves as well. It was going to be a good holiday for the Sherway family – they could just feel it.

Maria Sherway, their mother, hustled the children into the corner to change out of their ratted coats and shoes and clean up to help her around the house. 

"Come on Matthew, just because you provide for this family, doesn't mean you don't have to work." She scolded her eldest son jokingly, pushing him back toward the table where a broom rested, waiting to be picked up by his soot-covered child hands. Before Maria even turned around, the other two boys were already at tugging the clothes pile to a heavy wooden box that served for the family closet. 

"Brooke honey, come give daddy a kiss!" exclaimed a man of his early thirties that had just walked into the apartment after his long day at work. He grinned at his bustling family and gave his wife a loving hug before crouching down to pick up his six-year-old baby daughter who had bounced toward him from a far corner of the room where she had just been watching a mouse poke its nose out of its hole. She jumped into her father's arms and wrapped her small ones around his neck as he lifted her off the ground and spun her around a little. 

"Papa!!!" exclaimed the three little boys, dropping whatever they were doing, and rushing over to the man.

"Andy, Ben, Matti!" he chuckled ruffling their hair as he set Brooke down on the creaky floor again and headed into the Sherway apartment, pulling off his coat and wool scarf. He looked up a little surprised at his wife as he passed by the small pile of money on the table, only to receive a confirming nod and smile from her.

*

The winter passed by, turning little Brooke one year older, March came and the twins, Ben and Andrew had their share of the celebration, and April topped it all off with Matthew taking the lead again at a graying age of nine. 

Soon the New York sun began to bake the streets quite harshly, the heat helping spread disease through the crowded tenements of windowless apartments. The Sherway family did not worry much though, because they only needed to share their tiny apartment with occasional rodent visitors, unlike many of their neighbors. As July rolled around and there was very little cool shade or clean air to breathe, Maria had gotten pregnant again.

*

"Mama! Mama! Help!" Screamed little Ben as he rushed around the paper wall that separated his parent's bed from the rest of the apartment.

Maria could barely open her eyes, but as soon as she did she saw her son tugging at her arm, worry completely morphing his face into one she had never seen before. She sat up and heard loud wailing coming from the other corner of the apartment and the voices of her two other sons doing their best to calm it down. She carefully got up and wobbled toward the sound, her eyes still blurry from sleep and weakness brought on by the baby.

There, in the corner, beside the blackened stove was Brooke, tears streaming down her face, her voice hoarse from screaming. She squirmed on the floor, her shoulders pinned down by Andrew as Matthew held her burnt leg, trying to carefully pour cool water on it. Neither of the boys knew what they were doing, but at least it was something. 

"What happened?" screeched Maria falling to her knees beside her daughter. 

"I don't know mama" answered Ben, being the only one not knowing how to help "I think she was boilin' wata an' standin' too close to the stove grate."

"Her skirt caught fiah" continued Andrew.

"An' then she burnt 'er leg" finished Matt.

"My baby" moaned Maria feeling a strong wave of nausea brought on by the sight of the wound. She rushed away from her children over to a bucket in another corner and emptied all of her stomach's contents from as far back as two days ago. She stayed there leaning shakily on the wall, her knees barely supporting her.

*

"Maria, are you sure I can't help you with anything" whispered Jonathan sitting on the edge of their bed, clutching his wife's sweaty hand. "Water, food, anything at all?"

"No Jon, please, just stay here…please" she stared out ahead of her, her eyes no longer seeing, just two glassy orbs set deep inside the black holes of her eye sockets. Every vein showed through beneath her papery gray skin as she struggled for each breath, grasping her husband's hand at the same time. 

The four kids huddled together behind the table, staring at the pain their mother was going through. They could not understand that the disease had spread into their small abode, having already claimed the life of their unborn sister and soon, their mother as well. They were ordered to stay away, to protect them from too much mental scarring, having to watch their mother in her last throes as she held on to the last threads of life. Nothing but fear kept them away though. They squeezed each other's hands until their fingertips were white, trying to channel their strength, but only allowing the fear to take more control.

"Maria, please, you can't do this to us, please sweetheart" Jon sobbed quietly clutching the woman's pale hand in both of his, tears streaking through the dust on his face. "Maria?"

"I love you all." She squeezed out of her throat before her heart stopped, unable to handle any more pain that her body was to go through. 

Jon broke down into bitter tears right at that moment, pulling up his wife's limp body from the bed and into a tight embrace, but she was gone. The children carefully made their way around the table, but their father barked at them to stay back. They had never hear him thus, and scattered away, still unaware of their mother's passing, but faintly beginning to understand. 

Matthew wrapped his arms around his sister protectively, in hopes of being able to protect her from the same fate, as the little one sobbed quietly into his shoulder. The other two brothers huddled at his sides, shivering from fear.

Jon sat on the floor by the bed swaying back and forth. He saw nothing but his wife lifeless form and heard nothing but her final words. He had forgotten about the whole world around him, his job, his children, all he cared about was Maria, his dead Maria.


	2. Three years later

Chapter 2

Before going home, the four siblings would always meet up on the street corner and pile their daily earnings into Matthew's hands. Then they would go home together to their waiting mother and clean up before their father had returned. 

Over the past three years, since their mother's death, the kids have grown accustomed to working harder and for longer hours, to earn more money. Supporting their father had become one of their responsibilities, a rather strenuous one for children between ten and twelve, working on the streets and in the factories of the big city. Since the death of Maria Sherway, his wife and their mother, Jonathan Sherway had seen the light of day only when he went to visit her grave once every month. In their tiny one-room apartment, he did very little except eat, sleep and sit staring blankly. The children would sometimes find him writing things, what seemed to be letters to their mother, for they could read her name at the heading of each scrap of paper. They managed to find the letters sometimes, hidden under the rotten mattress of their father's bed, but could not read his handwriting. They could barely read at all, having been taught the alphabet by their mother when they were young. Most of the reading they could do was because of their own stubbornness at deciphering the headlines and articles of the newspapers Matthew sold. 

"Matti, did ya see all them bulls runnin' around earlia?" voiced a ten-year-old Brooke jogging up to her brother as fast as her mother's long skirt would allow. She was all covered in grime from the factory, but the worry still shone through, as did the subtle pain reflected in her gray-blue eyes. Her curly brown hair cut short to be safer in the factory, was matted to her forehead with sweat and dirt and the rest stuck out every which way from beneath a sooty kerchief. 

"They's always runnin' around kid, nuttin' too special" he shrugged his broadening shoulders. At twelve he stood a head taller than his sister did, but his brothers were not too far behind him. He ran his newsprint-covered hand over his jet-black hair squeezing out a few streams of sweat onto his tanned skin. It was unbearably hot that afternoon and the other two members of the party were running late. 

"Matthew! Brooke!" shouted two boys over the din of the crowd as they pushed through with all their might. They ran up to their siblings panting heavily from a difficult run. The two others were taken aback by the excitement of their brothers, ones that rarely showed that kind of emotion in public. 

"There's sumtin' wrong at home, ya gotta come quick" said Ben, having regained his breath first. Andrew just nodded before turning around to push back through the crowd.

*

Entering their small room, an odd stench hit their noses, making the four kids pause at the door. Carefully, they made their way in through the dark. The room had no windows, and the light had been out, but they could feel something was out of order.

"Papa, we're home." Matthew called out like he always would. There was no answer.

"Papa, you there?" asked Andrew stepping further into the room.

"Papa?" voiced Ben. 

The four walked further into the room, halting at every piece of furniture in their way.

"Papa?" squeaked Brooke, having suddenly lost her voice. She felt her way closer to the bed, but could see nothing in the dark. 

Ben had felt his way toward the lamp at the other end of the room, and after some difficulties with finding and lighting it, he had managed to provide some sparse light for the rest. The second it went on, Brooke let out an ear-piercing scream. She stood in a small puddle of blood beside her father's limp hand draping over the side of the blood-soaked bed. Her brothers rushed to her side, stopping stock-still in shock, as the sight unfolded before their eyes, one that would always remain burned into their memories.

*

They quickly sifted through the few family belongings, before the neighbors could swarm in and take anything in sight. Brooke ended up with her mother's eight silver rings in a pouch to put around her neck. The kids only took the valuables that either held sentimental value to them, or could help feed them on a cold day.

Without a glance back at the corpse on the bed, they ran out of the apartment, down the dark stairs and out into the open air. They rushed into the nearest alley they could find, where they collapsed into each other's arms. Brooke brought on the tears into everyone else's eyes with her heavy tears. Like three years before, they sat huddled together, tears streaming down their faces, clutching on to one another, so as not to lose them too. Thus they fell asleep, in a dark alley behind a tenement building, among piles of crates and waste, with nothing left in the world but each other.


	3. Who?

Chapter 3

"Get a move on!" barked a gruff and unkempt supervisor at the hunched over masses of grimy children working at his feet. 

The tiny hands of the children were perfect for sewing together the thick shoe leather because the stitches were always as good as invisible. There was barely any room for all the kids in that room, and there were more below and above them with more kids slaving away for mere pennies. That was Brooke's daily life. She had to stay for longer hours every night, now that she was on the streets with her brothers; she was wholly responsible for herself. Matthew, her eldest brother had managed to find a temporary home for himself and his three siblings down in the city sewers. He sold newspapers for a living, while the twins, Andrew and Ben worked in a smithy feeding coal into the furnaces, and Brooke made shoes. They had moved to Harlem, working there. 

*

"Come ovah heah an' say dat!" bellowed a rotund pre-teen from across the road at Matthew. He stood there in his best school clothes ruffled up rebelliously. Joe was skipping school again, and had been amusing himself with throwing pebbles at a newsboy across the street. Certainly Matthew had ignored him, keeping to his task, but the pebbles had scared away his customers, so he had asked the kid to stop rather politely, using only a few of the unlimited number of swear words that were packed into his large vocabulary. 

"Jis move along, ya pig, an' find yasself somet'in safe ta do, else I soak yas!" he shouted back. Before holding out a newspaper to a passerby.

Luckily enough for Matthew, Joe noticed a couple of blue police uniforms turning the corner and heading toward them. 

"This ain't ova, rat!" He shouted back and ran off before the bulls could catch him and drag him back to school.

*

"Ya won't believe the noive a some a dese stuffed shoits!" complained Matthew as the kids met for the night and headed to an alley where they had found a hidden sewer grate. "Throwin' pebbles at me custamahs jus coz he rich!"

"Don't worry bout 'im, we'll soak 'im de next time we see 'im" Andrew patted his shoulder reassuringly and Ben grinned.

"Or we could jus' ignoah such dumbasses" offered Brooke, but only received laughter in reply. 

The four walked deeper into the alley. Andrew and Ben went into through the hole in the ground first, waiting for Brooke to come down with Matthew's help. But they didn't come. 

"Stop, ya rats!" came a familiar bellow from the mouth of the alley. In a matter of seconds, a large shape came hurling itself at Matthew, catching him off-guard and tackling him to the ground. 

"Get off 'im!" screeched Brooke clawing at the boy's back.

Matthew landed a few good punches to Joe's face, sending him reeling backward while clutching his nose. He stopped, staring at the two orphans, taking in their faces. 

"I'll get ya for this" he growled taking note of Matthew's face before glancing over at Brooke.

"Oh go home and wail to yer mama." hissed the girl, angering him again. Right then, Joe rushed her, pulling out a short blade from his pocket and slashed at her face. Matthew grabbed him on his way, but the blade still made a small cut on his sister's cheek. He kicked Joe in the stomach and shoved him hard toward the mouth of the alley, before jumping inside the sewer entrance with Brooke in his arms.

"An' who was it dat said to ignore such dumbasses?" Ben asked while dabbing away the blood on his sister's face.

*

"Come on, no time ta waste!" growled the supervisor over Brooke's head, as he landed a swift kick into the side of one of the girls beside her.

None of the children paid attention, as they continued working, they did not want to get another bruise of their own. The room hummed as always, with the supervisors stepping between the rows of tiny, starving and dirty children sewing the shoes. Everyone was too busy to hear the ceiling above creak oddly. A plank snapped, but everyone kept working. It was not until a few pieces of wood fell down on the floor, that the supervisors noticed something and began hustling the kids to their feet. Alas, they had noticed too late. The ceiling above collapsed onto a crowd trying to jam their way through the door, crushing the children and supervisors alike.

After the dust had settled, the remaining supervisors had received orders to clear up the mess as fast as they could. With the help of the remaining children, they carried out the wood beams and bodies piling them together behind the building. They were to be burned later, when more help arrived. Not everyone they carried out was really dead.

*

A boy of about eleven raced down the street, ducking behind passers-by to gain even a few more seconds for his benefit from his pursuers. His dirty-blonde hair bounced on top of his head, only a few strands held firmly down by the strap of a large brown eye patch. The sleeve of his yellowed shirt caught on a nail of a street fruit stall, almost toppling him over. The two brothers in twin bowlers were not too far behind now, and all he could do was hide. He quickly rolled into a nearby alley piled high with debris and crawled deeper into it as fast as he could. He turned around in time to see the two brothers run right by the alley, still shouting his name angrily.

"Phew, dat was TOO close Blink" he muttered to himself.

The pile of debris shifted behind him and a grimy hand popped out, grabbing his ankle. Blink screamed, twisting around to face his new attacker. Instead, he saw a girl stuck under a few broken wood planks trying to pull herself out. He jumped to his feet and helped her by shifting one of the pieces and then tugging her out by her hands. 

"Now DAT was sumtin'" mumbled the girl.

"Who are ya?" Blink asked her, pulling her to her feet and helping her out of the debris pile onto the cobblestones of the alley.

"…Nevah hoid a guy scream like dat…" she continued mumbling.

"Hello?" Blink waved his hand in front of her face.

"Hey, I know yas theah, don't gotta go wavin ya hands around!" she growled, her blue-gray eyes flashing a stormy gray-green.

"Hey! I'ma get caught wid you yellin like this, shut up!" he hissed back at her.

Without a second thought, the girl punched Blink in the jaw, sending him reeling back and then staring at her with great surprise in his eye.

"Alright, alright, I get yer point" he mumbled walking back up to her "How 'bout I take ya someplace safe, wheah ya can get cleaned up?" he offered.

"Fine" she nodded groggily, still shaking of unconsciousness, rubbing her fist "but no moah yellin' ya makin' ma head hurt"

Blink lead the way out of the alley and toward the Newsies Lodging House.

*

"What do ya mean 'she's dead'?!" Matthew shouted at one of the men at the factory. 

Andrew and Ben hand wandered into the building itself, staring into the faces of the kids bustling about inside, clearing out the remains of the debris.

"Just that, kid, Brooke Sherway's dead" the man said gravely "I carried her out meself a few hours earliah."

Matthew spit on the ground and walked past him, toward his brothers. They helped the kids clear out the mess, looking for their sister's brown curls in the debris, or a piece of her clothing, but finding none.

*

"So what's yer name, kid?" asked Blink after a bit of silent walking. He looked over at the girl covered in dust and dirt from head to toe.

"I…" she shook her head of wild brown curls that have grown to the length of her jaw "I don't know" she sighed, massaging her throbbing temple.

"Well…" Blink paused, giving the girl a worried glance. "Ya look like an Alisha, so I'll call ya dat, okay, kid?"

"I guess" she muttered, signing to him that she wanted silence.

*

The three brothers walked home late that night, their fingers torn to blood, having sifted through the mess in the alleyway as much as they could before it had gone up in flames. Their sister was gone, off to meet their parents in heaven. While in a lodging house in Manhattan, two new kids showed up, a boy and girl. Kid Blink was already known to some of the newsies there, he had promised to move to that lodging house sooner or later anyway, but the girl was something else. She could remember nothing beyond the moment she woke up squished by wooden debris in an alleyway.


End file.
